The Age of Reason
by Rahuratna
Summary: The young Pharoah Atem has chosen a new bride, plotting and intrigue abound in the royal court, Thief King Bakura is highly disturbed and something is rotten in the state of Egypt . . .R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yu-gi-oh or any characters involved in the series, however, to my intense regret, I do own Cassandra Rihanna Bastet. This story is meant to be of a parody nature and any discrepancies (such as use of MUM and DAD) are there ON PURPOSE. The setting is Ancient Egypt. Enjoy!

**The Age of Reason**

Cassandra Rihanna Bastet was born in Ancient Egypt, in the year the Nile River flooded its banks. Her family knew, from that moment on, that she was destined to be a great asset to them. As a child, she displayed signs of great intelligence and future beauty. At the age of 2, Cassandra could read all hieroglyphics even though both her parents were illiterate peasants. This mysterious ability was self-taught, as she often spied on the priests during their rituals and managed to learn the symbols by the meanings attached to them. She had an older sister who, although pretty, had nothing of the beauty Cassandra promised to possess at some unknown future stage. A change in this idyllic routine was imminent, however.

It all happened one fateful day when the terrible band of thieves descended on their small village. Cassandra, by some lucky chance, had been out practicing her hieroglyphics at the local temple with all the priestesses cooing over what a darling little peasant she was. In the midst of inscribing the symbol for "thief" in her clay tablet (even the priestesses wouldn't trust her with their precious papyrus) she sat up suddenly.

"What's the matter, dear?" asked the kind High priestess, who Cassandra had regarded as her mother from day one, even though she already had a mother.

"Priestess, something's not right. I have to go home," said Cassandra scrambling to her feet.

"Are you ill?" asked a younger priestess.

"No, I . . .I . . . "

"Oh my, maybe she has had a vision!" said the High priestess (the motherly one)

"But, why a vision?" asked the younger priestess, slightly confused, "Surely a stomach ache . . ."

"Silence, whatsyourface," snapped the High Priestess, before turning back to Cassandra, "Now dear, why don't you run along home and find out if everything is all right."

Cassandra ran back home, her long blue-purple-blonde-silver hair streaming behind her in the wind. "Oh dear, I hope everything is all right back home," she thought.

Upon climbing the bank that overlooked her village, Cassandra gasped in shock. Smoke rose from the tops of the burnt and pillaged houses and people she had known since birth lay dead and dying in the streets. The smell of blood and charred bone was thick in the air. Unlike any normal child, Cassandra ran straight into the midst of the village, searching desperately for her family. She reached her house in time to witness her dead parents in the doorway and her dying sister crawling towards her with blackened hands outstretched.

"Cassandra . . ." she whispered.

Cassandra ran to her sister and cradled her once pretty head in her soft lap. "Oh Layla," she sobbed, "I should have come sooner."

The implications of this statement somewhat confused her dying sister, but she regained her melancholy a moment later (she was dying after all). "It's not your fault, Cassie. The thieves came and did this to our village. Mum and Dad tried to stop them but . . ." her words were cut off by heart-wrenching sobs.

"Oh Layla, tell me who did this to you?"

"The thieves (cough, hack) I just told you."

"Oh. right. But what can I do? Where shall I go? How can I avenge what was done to you?"

"Dear sister, you need to go to the temple. The prietesses like you. When you tell them what happened they will let you live with them. Learn to fight. Oneday, you will take revenge on those who destroyed us."

With this final piece of sage advice, her sister passed away in her arms. "Layla, NO!" But no breath could be heard from the numb, bloody lips.

For how long Cassandra lay there, she did not know. Finally (when the smell of her sister became too much to bear, you know how these Egyptian climates are), she rose gracefully from the ashes of her village like a Phoenix and made her way back to the temple. Through all the sadness and pain, she vowed that she would make the people who killed her family suffer for their sins.

"Oneday, mother, father and dear sister and pig and dogs and canary and hamster and princess-pony, oneday, you shall all be avenged by my hand. I will not sleep until that day."

So saying, she went to the temple, had a good square meal, learnt some more hieroglyphics and fell into a deep slumber.

**End of part 1. The following exciting installment tells of the parallel adventures of the young thief, Bakura and the destruction of **_**his**_** village.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **

**The Age of Reason**

On the outskirts of a dirt-poor little village in a remote part of Egypt, a little white-haired boy played by himself in a sand-pit of his own devising. Since most of Egypt was a desert, it did not really require much application on his part. This particular little boy was very cute and somewhat cuddly, although his advanced state of grubbiness did little to enhance this. His name was Bakura, after his thoroughly Egyptian mother had a strange urge to give him a Japanese name. Bakura also happened to be an inhabitant of Kul-Elna, the Village of Thieves. His father was Thief Lord, an imposing (non-white haired) individual whose appearance put fear into the hearts of all law-abiding citizens.

Although doted on by his mother, Bakura was shunned by the rest of the village on account of his having white hair and slate-blue eyes. The origins of this strange phenomenon were unknown, but weird enough for primitive Egyptians to find suitably terrifying.

To them he was known as "Demon-child", "Abominable Snow-boy" and, in the case of certained hardened thieves, who refused to show fear, he was simply known as "Little Thingy." There was catchiness to this nick-name that appealed even to Bakura. Unfortunately, it was so catchy that some of the thieves started referring to his father as "Thingy." The name stuck. Father was not happy. He blamed Bakura for this, along with his alcohol problem, his womanizing tendencies, taxes and the bad weather. This did not create a "Happy household" situation.

Thus Bakura spent his childhood years shunned and alone, but he remained a happy child, if a trifle lonely, content to wander the sand-dunes by himself with his imaginary friend, Pickles. Until one fateful day, when he turned 8, his life changed forever.

Bakura had been out saving Pickles from drowning in the bottomless sand-pit of doom (there was no such thing as cops and robbers in those days) when he heard the thunder of hooves announcing the return of his father from a raid. Excited, he ran towards the village, hoping that he would get a diamond ring or some other such pretty trinket as a reward for staying out of sight that week. But the atmosphere in Kul-Elna was far from jubilant as it usually was after a good raid. His father began shouting orders to his men who were scattering throughout the village, passing on shouted instructions and striding with grim faces through the narrow streets. Villagers scuttled about, grabbing their few belongings and barricading themselves within their houses.

"Papa!" shouted Bakura, trying valiantly not to be trampled, "What's happening?"

"Oi, Little Thingy!" said a hideous one-eyed thief who Bakura had regarded as his father from day one, even though he already had a father, "You better scram! The Pharoah's Royal troops have found our location and they're coming to destroy the village."

"Gaaaaaaah!!!" shouted Bakura and ran off in search of his Mama. One-eye stared after him in confusion. You see, since Bakura spent most of his time alone, this had not turned him into the most eloquent of children. To make matters worse, he had made up an imaginary language to communicate with Pickles, which was currently flavour of the month. Hence, Gaaaaaaah.

Bakura found his mother hastily hiding their valuables in a small, well hidden alcove behind the clay bricks in the wall of their hut. "Bakura!" she shouted, "Take this bag and run to that secret hiding place where Pickles lives!" You see, even though she was an Ancient Egyptian, she still had good grasp of child psychology.

"But Mama . . ."

"Go! Quickly! I'll meet you there later."

Bakura's cute bottom lip trembled. "What if you don't . . ."

"Hush, child, don't you worry about your Mama. I'll find you, I promise."

With a final kiss, she pushed him out of the house and proceeded with her fruitless preparations. Gold is not much good when you're dead, after all.

Bakura did exactly as his mother bade him, hightailing it out of the village and straight to the little hidden cave where Pickles spent his nights. He stayed there for many hours, munching on the apples his mother had packed him.

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When he awoke, it was dark, causing immediate alarm. He sat up and crawled to the cave entrance where he stumbled out into the night air and ran in the direction of his village. An ominous feeling entered his stomach when he noted the dead silence and the smell of smoke and burnt flesh, all compounded when he beheld the horror of his destroyed home. Blindly, he staggered into the village, searching desperately for some sign of his parents. He found his father with an axe buried in his head and ran off, crying when he realised what he would find at his own home. His mother had been killed with an arrow, and he sat and cried over her body for days, not eating or sleeping, and unlike some people, didn't care much when she started to smell. She was his mother after all, smelly or not.

After some time, he managed to climb to his feet and went in search of food. Finding some onion and raw steak in the larder, he wolfed them both down (thus developing his deplorable taste in food). When he regained his strength, the innocent child no longer remained. He burned with a terrible desire for revenge against this "Fairoh" (his spelling wasn't that good either) who had snatched his dear mother away from him. He would find this man and teach him what it meant to suffer. He would make him pay. And the little boy threw back his head and let out a howl of demonic laughter, that was later to become his trademark and thus, the King of Thieves was born.

**And soon: We return to the lovely Cassandra and play witness to a meeting with her future mind sla . . .(cough) love interest, the Pharoah of Egypt!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, The Ku Klux Klan or Avril Lavigne's lyrics. This Chapter will also include parodying of the "hate-fic" and "song-fic". Here's more, as requested :-)

**The Age of Reason**

Cassandra grew up well taught in courtly manners, lady-like etiquette, sewing, cooking, cleaning, scribing, mathematics, astronomy, engineering, astrophysics, neurosurgery, genetics and animal care. She also grew to be astonishingly beautiful, as promised during her young years, so beautiful in fact, that nobody could exactly pin down her hair or eye colour. Her overall beauty was too dazzling for a person to pay attention to such trifling details. It could not be described by mere words. If one of the people who knew her were asked to describe her appearance, they would say "Oh her hair is a stunning golden-silver-blue-purple-green-red colour, all the colours of the rainbow and a few not even on the colour spectrum." Her eyes would then receive a similar description, with the person in question taking on a vague, far-away expression and thereafter snapping out of a trance-like state and going about their business as if nothing had happened. Strange. Some of the women whose husbands had been displaying such emotions and who were highly concerned about it, expressed their worries only to be lynched by an angry mob. A sort of Ancient Egyptian Ku Klux Klan.

Thus it was that this beautiful, perfect young woman was brought to the attention of the young Prince of Egypt, Atem. He was, at the time, conveniently in search of a wife and Empress to rule alongside him. Word of Cassandra's legendary beauty reached the young future Pharoah's ears and he decided to set out with a royal escort to determine whether these rumours were true. Amongst his escort were his High Priest in training, Seth, a cold, highly intelligent and calculating young man, somewhat ruthless in his politics and Priestess Isis, a very lovely, mysterious and elegant young woman. However, compared to Cassandra, Isis was an ugly, acne-prone witch with a sharp tongue and thoroughly jealous nature. Nobody compares to Cassandra. **Nobody**.

The Pharoah and his escort arrived at the village which Cassandra inhabited, an un-named village since there were better things to worry about than naming a village when Cassandra was so beautiful. Cassandra herself was at a convenient vantage point on a hill, since she had heard the Pharoah's retinue approach with her ultra-sensitive hearing. Peering down the hill, she gasped at the regal sight of the young Prince in all his royal splendour, enveloped in a cloth of gold robe and a spotless white tunic and breastplate studded with precious stones. He could have been wearing the price of Egypt on his back for all she knew. But Cassandra was not a superficial girl, oh no. Although the sight of his tanned muscles and proud, handsome young features and strange star-shaped multi-coloured hair made her feel slightly weak at the knees, she was more concerned about his _personality_.

The young Pharoah dismounted and led his followers to the temple were Cassandra lived. "Oh my, he's going to the temple. I wonder what he wants there. It couldn't possibly be me," thought Cassandra, "It's not possible that a Pharoah would want to have anything to do with a peasant like me, even though I am the most beautiful woman in all the land." With these sensible thoughts, she wandered down the hill-side nonchalantly and entered the temple through the back. Here she paused outside the audience chambers as a snatch of conversation reached her super-sharp ears.

"Yes, I would definitely like to see this girl whose beauty is so legendary," came the smooth deep voice of the Prince.

"I wonder who he's talking about," thought Cassandra.

"My King, your will is my command. I shall see to it that Cassandra is brought before you."

Cassandra's eyes widened. "Oh my, what on earth would the Pharoah want with me? I am only the most beautiful woman in Egypt and a peasant."

At this stage she had to hastily run down the hallway and into her room, as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Her room door was flung open and the High Priestess entered looking flustered. "Oh Cassandra, brush your hair and put your finest dress on, the Pharoah would like to see you!"

"Who, me?" asked Cassandra, shakily, seemingly forgetting instantly the event she had just witnessed. "But Why?"

"Who knows, girl, just dress and come!"

Cassandra put on her best dress, a blue silk with freshwater pearls embroidered into the hem and bodice. The neck was low cut enough to show off her generous cleavage, but not so low as to seem cheap. A white silk sash wrapped around her willowy waist and a similar scarf was wound through her rainbow hair. There were high slits up the sides of the skirt showing off her long, shapely legs, but not high enough to be cheap. With this she wore blue, high heeled slippers (although stillettos weren't invented yet, Cassandra had keen fashion sense as to know that they would be popular within the next 3000 years). She also put on a necklace of sapphires given to her as a present from a very rich landlord, simply because she was beautiful. With a regal sweep of her dazzling skirts, she entered the audience chambers in which the young Prince sat with his retinue. A silence decended over the room as she sank into a low curtsey before his chair, her skirts fanning out on all sides of her, showing just the right amount of leg and cleavage, but still seeming modest, somehow.

"You're Majesty," she whispered. Atem's breath caught in his throat at her beauty and he felt his world grow dim in comparison to the incomparable dazzlingness before him. "Is that even a word?" he thought hazily, "Ah, no fear, I'm Pharoah, I can make it a word in her honour." At this stage, a strange thing happened. The words to a song began to resound through Atem's head, sung by a highly nasal and annoying teenage girl voice, but all that was of no concern when Cassandra's beauty was the subject.

_Hey hey, you you, I don't like your girlfriend_

_Hey hey, you you, I think you need a new one_

_Hey hey, you you, I could be your girlfriend_

_Hey hey, you you, I know that you like me_

_No way, no way, you know its not a secret_

_Hey hey, you you I want to be your girlfriend _

"How ugly Isis looks in comaprison to this rising sun, I'd never noticed how atrocious she was before," thought Atem as the juvenile lyrics floated through his mind.

Preistess Isis was experiencing a feeling she simply could not put her finger on. She had never been concsious of such things as her appearance and never had she compared herself to another woman, she was usually too preoccupied with state matters to pay attention to such things. But something about this woman made her feel less than human, less than she usually was. Her brain seemed dull, she felt as if she had put on several pounds and her skin and hair felt greasy and lank.

_You're so fine I want you mine you're so delicious _

_I think about you all the time you're so addictive _

_Don't you know what I can do to make you feel alright (Alright...)_

_Don't pretend I think you know I'm damn precious _

_And hell yeah, I'm the **(censored)** princess _

_I can tell you like me too and you know I'm right (I'm right...)_

Meanwhile, beside him, Priest Seth was experiencing some strange sensations. He had always harboured a secret fancy for Isis, and to him no other woman was comparable to her in terms of her inner beauty, intelligence and insight and no other woman, no matter how dazzling had ever been able to distract him in the slightest from Isis's qualities. However, for the first time, he was experiencing a strange sense of light-headedness and desire to let go of all other emotions and his common sense at the sight of this girl.

_She's like so whatever _

_You could do so much better _

_I think we should get together now_

_And that's what everyone's talking about _

_Hey, hey, you, you _

_I don't like your girlfriend _

_No way, no way _

_I think you need a new one _

_Hey, hey, you, you _

_I could be your girlfriend _

"Whats's the matter with me? She's a silly, air-headed, peasant girl with good looks no doubt, but I've seen planty of beautiful women before her and no such thing had happened." Just as these thoughts went through Seth's mind, he was struck by another wave of the feeling, even more forceful than before, denying him the right to think logically and objectively, denying him reason and blotting out feeling, telling him that the woman he loved was an ugly, toady, groping creature.

_I can see the way, I see the way you look at me _

_And even when you look away I know you think of me _

_I know you talk about me all the time again and again (Again and again...)_

_So come over here and tell me what I wanna hear _

_Better, yet, make your girlfriend disappear _

_I don't wanna hear you say her name ever again (And again...)_

And if there was one thing that Priest Seth valued more than even his own life, it was a universe that operated on logic. And so, he fought back. His head began to swim and his eyes water, and he bent his head forward slightly under the strain.

"Yes, High Priest, she is beautiful is she not?" said the High Priestess of the temple eagerly, mistaking his tears of pain for tears of joy.

_In a second you'll be wrapped around my finger _

_'Cause I can, 'cause I can do it better _

_There's no other, so when's it gonna sink in _

_She's so stupid, what the hell were you thinking? _

"Yes . . .yes, indeed she is," he muttered, immediately the pain lessened a little and he was able to raise his head, carefully arranging his expression to one of enlightened delight as he gazed upon Cassandra. There was something terribly wrong here. He chanced a look sideways at the Pharoah, who was staring at the lovely Cassandra with a rapt expression, one corner of his mouth sagging slightly. Oh dear, thought the High Priest, dear me . . .

_Hey, hey, you, you (No way)_

_I want to be your girlfriend (No way, no way) _

_Hey, hey!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, Gollum or the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs. Thanks to The Duelist's Heiress and to Bellacide for the most encouraging review! Much appreciated ;-)

**The Age of Reason**

And in the midst of all this emotional turmoil, where, oh where, was Little Thingy? The poor little white-haired freak who had been torn from his beloved village and forced to witness the plight of his dead parents and friends? The little boy who had played happily with Pickles amongst the sand dunes and emitted such a demented laugh of doom in Chapter 2? The answer to all of these questions lay in a well hidden underground cave and oasis, a cave whose entrance would remain undetected to even the most trained of the royal scouts. Within this cave was the lair of the terrifying, awe-inspiring, undefeatable and wickedly cunning and nefarious Thief King Bakura. But what relation does this "Thief King" have to Little Thingy you ask? Is he his father resurrected by a necromancy spell? Is he his mother resurrected by a necromancy spell? Is he his second cousin once removed on his mother's side? Is he Pickles? No, _he is little thingy_! All grown up! Whoever would have seen that coming?

Yes, Little Thingy, far from dying in the desert from dehydration, starvation, snake-bite, scorpion-sting, sun-stroke, self-neglect, absence of love, terror, pain and fever like most regular little children would have done, had grown and thrived like an albino cockroach surviving the asteroid which killed the dinosaurs. And was he a small and skinny, groping and uneducated rat reminicent of Gollum as any other child growing up in his situation would be? Oh no! Little Thingy had grown to be the finest specimen of manhood in all of Egypt bar the Pharoah and his well-fed little court. With a 6 foot frame rippling with gleaming muscle, dark skin enhanced by scars in strategic places, spiky white hair, eyes that could pierce through armour with their steel-like properties and a gleaming set of canines bound to be the envy of any tiger, Thief King Bakura by no means invoked feelings of pity. He did, however, invoke feelings of blind terror, awe, panic, death-acceptance, and, a common feature amongst the Pharoah's guards known as the "warm-feeling-in-the-seat-of-the-pants" emotion. He was by no means Little Thingy anymore. Oh no. He was a _big thingy indeed._.

And what did Thief Bakura occupy his long days under the Egyptian sun with? Drinking, gambling, women and dance like most young men his age? No, Thief Bakura was solely occupied with _revenge_. Revenge against the Pharoah who had so unjustly taken away his family. His fury burnt all the brighter due to the fact that the actual Pharoah of Egypt who had ordered his village's destruction, had died and passed the throne on to his son, young Prince Atem. Never the one to be dissuaded, Bakura had merely transferred his unhealthy fixation onto the throne's successor. Thus it was that during the reign of Atem, the greatest threat to his Kingdom did not come from foreign civilizations, but from an internal source. Thief King Bakura became the official Scourge of Egypt, reknowned for his sudden and erratic appearances, deadly methods of combat, trickery and deception, overall power (none of the High Priests were able to defeat him in single-combat) and for being a general pain-in-the-ass.

On this particularly fine night, the Thief King had decided to pay a visit to the city in order to plot some more mayhem. He arrived at the tavern he frequented, a seedy, cut-throat affair which no self-respecting person would enter if they valued their lives. Entering, he casually tossed a ruby-encrusted bangle onto the counter and ordered everything prepared for supper. The landlord of the tavern accepted his payment with grovelling deference earning himself a haughty look of distaste and jerked his greasy head in what he thought was a discreet manner to the various dancing girls to give this customer special attention. Bakura seated himself at a central table, causing several customers to edge away slowly. The terrified dancing girls came a few centimetres closer and dared come no further despite several other indiscreet head jerks from the landlord. Bakura, fully aware of the sensation his presence caused, pointedly stared at every person in the room before falling like a hungry wolf onto the food provided. Nobody commented on his table manners. Nobody was stupid enough.

But, in whatever scenario, there are bound to be the thoroughly retarded suck-ups who think they are charming enough to provide good company for anybody. _Think_ being the key word here. And so the Thief King found himself seated opposite a horrendously dressed and expensive looking male clothes horse, dripping in more gold jewellry than an American gangster rapper. Not that he was aware of such a comparison. Never one for conversation, Bakura gave him _the stare_. The young man wilted slightly, but nevertheless, the bravery of the stupid always prevails.

"Uhhhhmmmmm. . . so, Great and Wonderful, All Mighty Thief King, what brings you here on this fine night?"

"The food, obviously," was his none too encouraging answer.

"Ah yes, yes, of course. The food. How silly of me. But is the music not wonderful?"

"I wouldn't know."

"And are the dancing girls not stunning?"

"Not particularly."

Some of the dancing girls looked rather miffed at this. An awkward lull in the conversation followed in which the clothes-horse wilted under the terrible gaze even further. Desperate to dig himself out of this self-inflicted horror story, he racked his brain for some other topic of interest before he received a knife in the kidneys.

"Have you heard about the grand feast to be thrown at the palace in a fortnight?"

Now here was something of interest. Bakura feigned nonchalance. "There is?"

"Oh yes!" said the clothes-horse, thoroughly relieved, "It's to be thrown in honour of the young lady the Pharoah has chosen to be his wife. It is said that she is the most beautiful woman in all the land."

Bakura snorted into his wine. "Oh, but haven't you heard?" went on the clothes horse in a conspiratorial whisper, "She is a peasant! The Pharoah is defying all conventions to marry her because of his great love for her. It's caused much dispute in the court, some people are dead against the match."

Curiouser and curiouser. Bakura actually put down his cup. "That's ridiculous. The pharoah would never marry out of his own class."

"She is a peasant!" insisted clothes-horse, "A proclamation was sent out by Priest Seth informing everyone of her origins and ancestry and the date of the festivities. Her name is Cassandra Rihanna Bastet. The whole city is abuzz with tales of her legendary beauty."

"She must be something," smirked the Thief King, "Or some noble's not spilling the beans on a bastard child. That _name_ is enough to tell me there was something terribly wrong with her parents."

He received a blank stare from the clothes horse."What's wrong with her name?"

"Oh nevermind."

The Thief King left the tavern and proceeded to scout around the palace, taking careful noteof the preparations being made for the new Queen's reception. He also took note of the various conversations occurring around the palace, of which he was lucky enough to catch snatches. From these snippets he was able to establish the current state of turmoil the royal court was in due to the young Pharoah's unsuitable marriage. "Aha, bully for me," he thought, "Just the right environment in which to throw a cobra."

It was figurative speech, no doubt. And, no doubt, the crafty King of Thieves had more than one cobra up his sleeve . . .


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, but I do own Cassandra (sigh). Thanks for the awesome review, Bellacide! And here's the havoc . . .

**The Age of Reason**

Cassandra was in a state of bliss. Not only had she favourably impressed the Pharoah with her appearance and highly superior intellect, she had also created the worst internal strife amongst the Egyptian royal court members experienced in years. It was just like in the romance scrolls at the temple, written illictly by a priest, and were available for a mere quarter pound of sorghum grain per scroll. Passing through the city at the side of her future husband, she had waved to the crowd gathered around the procession leading to the palace gates. Although most were struck dumb by her beauty, Priest Seth silently fumed at the rear where he had appropriated Isis once more.

"Who does she think she is?" he ground out in a low voice, "Look at her waving as if she has done this all her life. She is a peasant! She should never have agreed to this union in the first place if she had an iota of common sense!"

Isis was quietly considering the spectacle before her. "What you say is true, Seth. I understand that the Pharoah falling in love with someone of the lower class like her could be regarded as a kind of dream if you looked at it from her point of view. But the contention this match is likely to incur in court cannot be ignored."

Seth snorted. "Contention is something of an understatement, Isis. It's going to be outright civil war or nothing. But the Pharoah's word is law."

*|*******************************************************************************************************************************************

Unbeknownst to anyone, Bakura had made some radical changes to the royal line-up for that evening. Amongst the chaotic preparations for the arrival of the Pharoah and his bride, nobody had noticed the figure cloaked in a dull brown robe casually creating catastrophe in its smooth wake. Not only had he created havoc with the actual preparations for the reception by adding copious amounts of vinegar to the milk, letting loose rats in the granary, releasing a sacred crocodile into the royal baths, sticking shards of glass into the bales of straw for the unfortunate people carrying them and scrawling graffiti all over the palace walls questioning the Pharoah's sexual orientation, he had also made certain preparations which would only take effect as the procession was entering the palace gate. These included the manufacture of shortened candle-sticks smothered with a potent chilli mixture which he would shove up the rear horses behinds, the rigging of a large golden shield positioned above the palace gates so that it would fall just as the Pharoah and his bride made their entrance, the repositioning of the fireworks (imported from the Far East) such that they would explode in the royal guards' faces rather than into the air and loosening the leashes of the royal hunting dogs which would promptly go into a frenzy when the fireworks went so horribly wrong. Sniggering to himself, he slipped into the sidelines to marvel at his own handiwork and matchless genius as the royal procession came ever closer.

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At this point the procession reached the palace gates. Unaware of the conversation occuring some way behind her between Seth and Isis (her supersonic hearing powers did not extend to distinguishing low conversations over the roar of a crowd) Cassandra turned to wave one last time and smiled her dazzling smile, causing a minor stampede and a few crushed limbs in the forward-most portion of the crowd. And then it happened. Seth's horse along with a few others in the rear of the train began to go beserk, bucking and neighing frantically, kicking their hind legs high into the air with their riders holding on for dear life. The crowd surrounding them began to scream and scatter as the maddened horses swerved dangerously near. Seth, with his head-dress lying trampled in the dust and his normally immaculate robes and hair in disarray, growled in shock and fury as he attempted to control his steed. Isis led her horse away from the others and dismounted, waving to Seth to steer his own toward her. He slid ungracefully off the horse's back and held it comparatively still as she made a wary circuit around the snorting and stamping animal.

"Here!" she exclaimed suddenly, pointing to an odd projection from the animals rump.

"What on earth . . .?" began Seth as she moved out of range of the animal hooves, flicked up its tail and swiftly pulled out the soiled candlestick. The animal jerked and kicked in alarm, but calmed down considerably once it felt the discomforting sensation had disappeared.

Seth's face went red with rage as he beheld the object that Isis held and he swung around on his heel searching for the culprit. At that moment, another volley of screams sounded from the front followed by a resounding thump. Cassandra had been in the midst of another round of waving when her instincts told her that something was about to fall on their heads. A big something. Grasping the Pharoah's arm, she pulled him out of harms way just as a heavy golden plate smashed into the ground where his horse had been a few moments ago. The Pharoah gasped in shock, gazing from the plate to Cassandra and back again. "M . . . My Queen, you just saved my . . ."

His gratitude was then cut short by the sound of an explosion which rocked the palace walls and the terrified screams of palace guards. A man ran past them with his hair on fire. Twenty more followed with blackened and burned faces, various areas of their anatomy ablaze and one unfortunate fellow being carried as a "Sparkling Chinese Dragon" had made a direct path for his crotch, all running for their lives. The sharp yapping and howls of the dogs followed as they burst free from the kennels, running amock in the terrified crowd, snapping at heels and worrying at clothing, laying siege to the rest of the royal procession.

"What in the name of Ra is going on?" shouted the Pharoah over the cacophony.

"Your Majesty," panted a royal courier who had somehow made his way to the Pharoah's horse, "Someone has sabotaged the reception!"

"I can see that!" was the roared reply.

Cassandra, meanwhile, with her never-failing common sense, was scanning the surrounding crowd for any suspects and a lone figure caught her eye. The person was wearing a tan-coloured robe with the hood up, shading the upper portion of the face entirely, but Cassandra could see from his stance and height that it was most certainly a man. The exact reason for this strange person catching her attention was unknown to her. Perhaps it was the nondescript robe he was wearing, the fact that he was standing in the midst of a crowd of people wearing the same colour, perhaps it was his aura which, for some strange reason, reminded her of pickles. But mostly it was the fact that he wasn't waving like mad and drooling like a demented monkey similar to the other men surrounding her.

"He must be the culprit!" she thought, but for some reason, known only to her and the workings of her strange mind, she did not alert them to his presence. "Why would he create such danger to my safety? Is it possible that he does not find me beautiful? she thought, a deep sense of sadness filling her. "How could anyone be so hard-hearted? He must have had a terrible childhood to not appreciate the beautiful things in life. I just know it."

She turned away, upset at the callousness of the rock-like individual and gave a tremulous smile to the Pharoah beside her. The Pharoah gave a sappy smile back and stroked her arm gently. At that moment, Seth rode up, his horse suitably calmed.

"My Pharoah, I formally request that you call off today's festivities. Who knows what else may go wrong?"

"Nonsense, Seth," said the Pharoah, turining to his trusted High Priest, "It is tradition that the celebrations must occur when welcoming the new Queen to the city. We will arrange something, if a trifle smaller."

"But, your Highness . . ."

"Not another word, Seth. Go and see to it that the preparations are made." So saying, he turned away and took Cassandra's arm, leading her to a safe place.

Seth felt his blood pressure go up another notch. He began to recite trigonometry ratios, the only way he knew to calm himself down.

"Seth?" Isis came up beside him.

"Sine theta squared plus cos theta squared equals one, sin theta over tan theta equals . . ."

Isis backed away. Never part a High Priest from his trig ratios.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

The celebrations within the safety of the palace turned out to be highly enjoyable if on a smaller scale, with coloured confetti, a banquet fit for a, well, a King, dancing girls, drummers and sitar players, jugglers, acrobats, tigers and lions and hundreds of slaves ready to do Cassandra's bidding at the drop of a hat. She sighed, luxuriating in the attention and care she was receiving from the Pharoah and his court.

I've never felt so at home, she thought, looking around. Glancing across the table, she chanced to lock gazes with Isis who stared back, her eyes unwavering, polite and cool as she contemplated Cassandra over the rim of her cup.

I don't think she likes me, thought Cassandra in surprise, I wonder how that could be. I have been anything but unpleasant to her during our journey here.

Considering why this was so, Cassandra came up with a shocking theory. Isis couldn't . . .no, it was not possible . . .she couldn't possibly . . .be in love with the Pharoah? But what else would explain her cool, distant demeanour? True, she interacted that way with everybody around her, but surely nobody could behave that way towards her, Cassandra, without having a reason. Everybody liked her and was warm to her, anyway. The Pharoah roused her out of her reverie by tapping her lightly on the shoulder.

"My dear, you look tired. I shall escort you to your chambers where you can get some rest."

"Thank you, my Pharoah," said Cassandra gratefully, thankful for a chance to escape Isis's observant gaze.

The Pharoah clapped his hands and immediately a squadron of ladies-in-waiting rushed to the table, assisting Cassandra with arranging her voluminous dress and hairstyle before she rose. The Pharoah took her arm and led her away from the festivities towards her chambers. Here he gave her a polite kiss on the cheek and a loving glance, earning some giggles from the ladies-in-waiting, and passed on to his chambers with his own guard. Sighing, Cassandra entered her room and gasped in delight. It was huge, furnished with a large downy bed, dressing tables and a large mirror, games to amuse herself with her attendants and a lovely balcony overlooking the central courtyard. Her attendants helped her off with her dress and into her night-robe, combed out her hair and fussed over her sheets. When they had retired into their neighbouring chambers, Cassandra snuggled happily into her cosy bed and drifted off into a pleasant slumber.

She was awoken by the soft noise at her balcony door. No regular woman would have heard such a slight noise, but Cassandra was a light sleeper. Opening one eye slightly she gasped as she beheld a hooded figure lightly spring over the rail. Paralysed, she watched as the figure did something skillful with the lock on the glass doors and entered her room. The moonlight shone across the intruders figure where he stood and her eyes widened when she realised that it was the robed figure from the crowd earlier that day. She could tell from his aura of pickles.

The robed figure did not seem to notice that she was awake and started to swiftly and silently go through the contents of her room, looting items of value into a sack he carried over one shoulder. Although terrified at first, Cassandra's outrage began to grow at this brazen robber desecrating her personal space. When he grabbed the priceless necklace of rubies Atem had given her as an engagement gift, however, she was able to keep silent no longer.

"Who . . .who are you and what are you doing in my room?" she asked, throwing as much imperiosity into her voice as possible to disguise the shivering.

The burglar did not turn around. "Finally decided to admit you were awake the whole time, then?" he asked in a deep raspy voice that sent shivers up her spine despite it's careless nonchalance. Then she snapped back to reality. What cheek!

"I'll have you know that you have broken into the chamber of the future Queen of Egypt!" she said angrily.

"Ha!" came the derisive laugh as he pocketed a priceless statue of Bastet, "Queen of Egypt, she says. Good one, plantation worker."

Cassandra flushed. "I have put my past behind me. I intend to make the Pharoah a good wife." Why she was bothering to justify herself to this robber was beyond her. "And besides that, I know that you are the one responsible for ruining the celebrations today."

He spun around to face her and dropped his hood, grinning evilly. "So, you've done your homework on _me_, I suppose?" he crooned.

She stared at him, dumbstruck. The moonlight gleamed on his white hair and bare, muscular chest, making it him appear almost ethereal, his canines flashed menacingly in the half-light and his scars were shown up in nightmareish relief against his dark skin. He was . . . Gorgeous!

Mistaking her gawping for terrified paralysis, Bakura threw back his head and laughed manically, raising one clawed hand into the air for dramatic effect. Hey, it had worked before. "_I _am none than Bakura! And since the Pharoah saw fit to go ahead and arrange a further feast in your honour despite my destruction of the last one, I decided to go for something original and loot your chambers. You have heard the tales of my terrible deeds, no doubt, Princess? "

Cassandra lifted her jaw high enough to get a coherent word out. Ra, even his cliched evil laugh was sexy. "Ummmmmmm . . . no?"

Bakura dropped his hand immediately, a frown of intense irritation appearing on his features. "What do you mean, woman? Who hasn't heard of me?"

He called me woman! she mentally squealed. Nobody's ever called me that before! It was always either m'lady, madam, mistress, queen of my heart, or some other such title conferred on her by men. His originality took her breath away.

"I . . .I haven't heard of you," she breathed tremulously.

He harrumphed and folded his arms, cocking his head and sneering at her. "Makes sense, I suppose. A peasant like you wouldn't know anything about the Thief King himself."

"Thief King?" she said faintly. The romance scroll was complete! Here was the handsome bandit from "Midnight Swim with a Nile Crocodile, Vol. 15" personified!

She sighed, staring at him dreamily, watching his mouth move but paying no attention to the words that were coming out. She made out something about "terror of all Egypt", "tomb robber", "royal assassins wetting themselves" and "greatest treasure trove", but all that seemed irrelevant when looking at this wonder amongst men. He finally seemed to grasp the fact that she wasn't paying attention to him at all.

"Are you listening to me, you idiotic wench, or has all that labour in the sun addled your stupid multi-coloured head?"

She giggled. He was funny too! Bakura stared, for the first time in his life, completely nonplussed. Here he was, the most dangerous criminal in the whole country, standing in the middle of her chambers when there were no guards in sight and this crazy female was giggling and batting her eyelashes at him? What on earth was going on?

He growled and took a step closer, a knife appearing in his hands as if by magic. "Do you know what I do to people who do not take me seriously?"

That sobered her up. She shrank back on the bed, her face flushed and her eyes wide. "Are . . are you going to kidnap me?"

Holy Ra, he thought in disbelief, she sounds almost hopeful.

"No!" he snapped, "I'll slit your ignorant throat, that's what!"

Her lovely bottom lip quivered and she began to cry silently. "Have you no mercy? How could you do something so cruel? You had a bad childhood, didn't you?"

Bakura stopped dead, his eyes wide. Cassandra, seeing an opening, edged closer to him. "They killed your village too, didn't they? And your family? I can see it in your eyes! You and me are so alike!"

Bakura began to back away slowly, never lowering his knife as Cassandra came closer, encouraged. "Tell me, open up to me! You know you can. I'm here . . ." and she placed an exquisite hand on his arm.

Bakura pulled away from her as if he had been burned. "You're ****censored*** insane, that's what you are! I don't know who told you about my village, woman, but I think I've had about enough of you."

And, for the first time in his life thoroughly spooked, the Thief King leapt off the balcony and disappeared into the night, leaving a breathless and dreamy Cassandra behind him. She sighed. He was in denial. He had to be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or Star Wars, but I do own Cassandra.

**Author Notes: **Thank you for the constructive criticism in the reviews. I urge you to remember, however, that this is a _parody._ And since it involves a Mary Sue, I attempted to emulate Sue authors' tendencies to twist the storyline, in this case changing Bakura's tragic past and his connection to the Millenium Items simply so that his past matches the Mary Sue's. A terrible crime, indeed. As for character personality changes, see above. "Pickle" is a term generally used to describe a vegetable that has been soaked for a period of time in vinegar and stored. The Ancient Egyptians were known for pickling fish and melons.

**The Age of Reason**

The following morning found Thief Bakura back in his hideout and feeling rather odd. The previous night had been nothing short of terrifying for the young thief and the fact that the cause of his nervousness was a woman made this a singularly annoying feeling for him.

"What on earth did she think she was doing, analyzing me like that," he growled, kicking over a nearby sword-rack rather petulantly, "I am the King of Thieves, nobody speaks to me in that manner and gets away with it!"

Sure, she was beautiful, but the Thief King's mind had been schooled from an early age to find things such as blood, gore, fire, lost souls, treasure and screaming as highly attractive, and thus poor Cassandra's charms, so potent to other men, were lost on him. His desire for revenge had driven him to scorn all forms of human affection. But there remained that niggling little problem about how she had known about his village's destruction when she had never even heard of him. Surely . . . surely she couldn't read minds? He unconsiously shivered at that when he remembered her multi-coloured eyes staring back at him and her breathless eagerness to _bond_ with him. Ugh, what a horrible thought. He was Thief King. He just didn't do bonding. Deciding to put that pesky woman out of his thoughts, Thief Bakura began to sharpen his extensive knife and sword collection, drawing a sense of solace and security from this activity very much as a Star Wars fanatic would over polishing their Luke Skywalker figurine collection. Tomorrow, he would seek her out again and show her what he did to people who tried any _funny business _with him. With this comforting, male-dominance oriented thought, Bakura went back to sharpening his tools of violence. Little did know what awaited him that night.

************************************************************************************************************************************************

Back at the palace, Cassandra was in a dilemma over her future husband and the man she had grown to love all in the space of one night. Her ladies-in-waiting revolved around her at a speed too fast for her eyes to follow as she sighed, smiling dreamily when she remembered the way he had smirked in that devilishly attractive way at her. Oh, it made her knees buckle, just like that kissing scene between the heroine with the ripped gown and the bandit king in "Midnight swim with a Nile crocodile." What were Atem's multi-coloured spikes when compared with that shaggy, white mane? What were his decidedly short, stubby legs when compared to the racehorse-like appendages emerging from underneath Bakura's kilt? What were his boring, purple, caring orbs when compared with those piercing blue rays of flame? Sighing again, she absentmindedly rose to her feet as her attendants tied the last fastenings on her elaborate purple and gold gown. Oh, what she would give to see him again, hear him say "woman" in that delightfully disrespectful tone, to hear him give his cliched maniacal laugh and call her retarded again. It was too much to bear.

At that moment, Atem arrived at her chamber doors and formally requested that she join him for breakfast. Giving a delicate groan of despair, Cassandra swept out of her room, schooling her face into a smile of delight when Atem greeted her with a gentle kiss on the forehead and bowed low, his regal robes sweeping the ground. Ra, she had never before noticed how short he was. It was obviously his hair which made up for most of his height. Head lowered, she resigned herself to a morning spent in his company.

************************************************************************************************************************************************

Cassandra's reticence and low spirits went unnoticed by Atem, however, two pairs of sharp eyes had not missed any of the reluctance she now displayed. Seth and Isis sat in an alcove overlooking the royal outdoor dining area where Cassandra sat at the Pharoah's side, hardly paying attention to what he said, her expression dreamy and distant.

"So, Isis, care to lay a wager on what's troubling our royal peasant queen?" asked Seth acerbically.

Isis smiled thoughtfully. "She certainly seems distracted. A very big change from yesterday."

"Not so keen on the high life now, is she?"

"No, it can't be that," said Isis, frowning slightly. She turned towards him, fixing him with her steady gaze and fingering her Millenium Tauk. "I had a vision yesterday, while I slept."

"What about?" Although he deeply respected Isis, Seth did not approve of her visionary talents. It was not something concrete that he could pin down, something abstract and vague.

"I dreamt that I was on a river bank and a lovely, white-purple-blue-green-gold-silver water lily was growing out of the greenery nearby. A hummingbird with multi-coloured, spiky wings was fluttering just above it, drinking sweetly from the flowers abundant nectar. The bird was then struck down cruelly by an albino hawk with blue eyes, who then proceeded to grasp the flower and tear it out by the roots."

"Less poetry, more fact if you please. A river, a flower, a small bird engaged in feeding, bird dies, flower is plucked. What next?"

Rolling her eyes slightly, Isis continued, "The flower, however, began to twine itself around the hawks leg despite the bird's struggling. The hawk then flew to a nest far from the river bank where it proceeded to alternate between tearing at and hopping madly up and down on the flower. The flower began to grow thorns and the bird began to injure itself and weaken. Finally the flower won and the bird collapsed, defeated and worn out. The flower then became the ruler of Egypt. It had stilletto heels on."

Seth stared at her, eyes wide. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No."

"You really saw all of that?"

"Yes."

"The flower wore stilletto heels?"

"Yes."

A silence followed this statement as Seth questioned the biological capability of such a feat. Isis watched him silently. Finally he stirred. "Well, the imagery was clear enough, although the presentation was odd."

"I believe so. We just have to find the hawk. Who do we know that has blue eyes and white hair?"

Another silence followed this, as ominous as the silence into which an inopportune man farts in a quiet lecture hall filled with a hundred people. "Oh dear . . ." said Seth.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************

Cassandra waited breathlessly for nightfall. According to her knowledge, this was the time when all evil, murderous, deadly, love-struck men came out to woo their loved ones. At the stroke of midnight, I know he'll be here, she thought in ecstasy.

He actually arrived five minutes late, but this didn't matter to her. He was here again. Trembling she watched his shadow creep along her balcony and perform that same skilful movement which unlocked her door. He entered, surveying the room cautiously for any sign of a trap. Cassandra sat up in bed theatrically, her multi-coloured eyes wide, making him take a step back in alarm.

"I knew you'd come," she whispered.

He drew his knife, thoroughly prepared not to let her make a fool of him this time. "Yes, I'm back, foolish woman! Did you think you could escape me?"

"No, I didn't." Her eyes gleamed as she took him in, revelling in the bloody hue of his long robe and the ivory hair standing up all over his head like he had used a blunt sword to give himself a hair-cut (actually, he had).

Bakura was thrown for a minute. "Well . . .well I have returned to teach you a lesson! And it won't be one you enjoy!"

"Are you going to kiss me?" breathed Cassandra, "Kiss me so roughly that I lose all my breath and nearly pass out from the joy and the heavenly bruises you inflict? Will you grip my wrists in your calloused hands of iron? Will you harshly grind out how much you hate me for making you feel this way? Like you're wanted and loved and understood when your with me?"

Bakura just stood there, his eyes growing wider with every word, the knife tilting dangerously floorward in his hand. He stared at her in utter bewilderment. What in Ra's holy land of chickens was wrong with this woman?

"Wha . . .What?"

She closed her eyes and clenched her hands tightly in the bed-spread. "You may as well get it over with. I shall give my heart to you and you only. Oh, you know exactly what effect you have on me, you wicked thief."

Bakura's jaw nearly hit the floor. "What are you talking about? You can't fall in love with me! I'm the Thief King, dammit! You should be shaking in fear!"

"I am shaking, in repressed desire for you, my one and only thief!"

"But . . .but I don't love you, you stupid woman! I'm here to torture and kill you!"

A strange thing began to happen to Bakura, then. He began to feel slightly dizzy and weak, the room spinning slightly around him. He blinked twice to clear his vision and cursed violently when nothing happened. For a moment, Cassandra's tinkling voice, so incredibly annoying to him at other times, sounded . . .attractive?

"What's wrong, my love?"

"Shut your infernal trap, woman!" he said staggering away from the bed.

Cassandra, her glossy hair tumbling in effortless grace around her, sprang from the bed and ran to her beloved, supporting him with both arms.

"Oh no! Are you hurt? Did one of my stupid future husband's guards hit you with a spear? I can heal you with my amazing curing abilities!"

The moment she had touched him, things had gotten very bad for Bakura. "Gaaaaaaaaah . . ." was the only coherent thing she got from him.

"Gaaaaaaaaah?" she questioned, frowning, "Oh, I know! You are experiencing an emotional turmoil too vast for words at the moment, so you revert to your childhood images, where you . . . wait, you must have had an imaginary friend!"

Everything about her thief suddenly seemed to fall into place and she gasped. "Pickles! You're aura spoke of pickles! That was his name, wasn't it? Pickles?"

Bakura made one last effort to drag himself away from what he was sure was his impending death and destruction. "Leave . . me . . . alone . . .you . . .creature . . ."

"Oh your poor tormented soul! Here, put your head on my lap. I promise I'll make everything all right," she cooed.

"Aaaaaaaaaaargh . . ." he managed to scream, pouring every ounce of his torture into that single, inhuman sound. The chamber doors burst open and Atem, along with a retinue of guards, Isis and Seth flooded into the room. The Pharoah gasped in horror when he saw the thief in the arms of his beloved. A terrible blood-lust decended on the normally calm and collected Prince. "Get away from her, you fiend!" he cried. He ran across the room, shoved Bakura from the petrified Cassandra's lap and lifted his sword for the killing blow . . .


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I do not own democracy, Shakira's lyrics, the bat-mobile, Volkswagen, Yugioh or any Yugioh characters portrayed in this fic.

**A/N: **Had enough of the song-fic? I haven't! Neither am I going to forget the tendency of Mary-Sue authors to venture into over-description of all characters deemed 'drool-worthy' . . .

**The Age of Reason**

There is a common belief that when someone experiences a brush with death their life flashes before their eyes in a fraction of a second. Not so with Bakura. Through the haze of pain and confusion the only thought that crossed his mind was "This f***ing midget is going to kill me . . . and I haven't even looted his bastard-father's tomb yet . . ."

Unfortunately, the former Pharaoh's fate (or at least, his preserved corpse's fate) was sealed by the cause of Bakura's condition itself . . . the future Queen of Egypt, Cassandra Rihanna Bastet. Flinging herself with selfless abandon before her true love (well, not entirely selfless, she made sure that she fell _just so_ so that her skirts lifted high enough to show her legs and her bosom landed against Bakura's chest) she gazed up imploringly at her fiance.

"Atem . . . no! Please . . . spare him!"

The young Pharaoh with steely violet eyes and hair honed into three violet, gold and black spikes, froze in position, his steel sword (with rubies, emeralds, diamonds and all three God monsters, his name in Egyptian heiroglyphics as well as the words "Crystal Dragon Star Prince of the Universe" engraved on the hilt) suspended over his beloved's heart. "Wha . . . what?"

"Please . . . this is the man I love! If you truly cared . . . you wouldn't be this cruel!" cried Cassandra, passionately flipping her red-gold-green-blue-lilac hair over her slim shoulder with a golden butterfly tattoo that nobody had ever noticed before.

"I knew it!" roared a new voice as Seth strode forward, his brown hair neat under his head-dress and his narrow, sexy azure eyes flashing, lean muscles flexing unnaturally from the simple action of raising his arm, "She's in league with him! This is a plot to assasinate you, my King!"

"No!" sobbed Cassandra, "I would never hurt you that way, Atem!"

Seth sneered, gesturing to the guards around them. "Well, you've done a pretty good job of that already . . . Seize them!" Unfortunately, even in a comatose state, the Thief King presented a problem. There was an urban legend circulating in the barracks at present that he had slain twenty men by blowing his nose. Nobody was going to risk that unquestioningly, so they shuffled forward, spears and shields raised defensively much to Seth's frustration.

Atem remained motionless, the sword still raised. Seth glanced at him awkwardly and cleared his throat. "My liege? . . ."

"I . . . In love? Wh . . . what do mean?"

The tall, muscular thief with shaggy white hair and narrow sea-grey eyes (wearing a red coat that showed off said muscles and a short, dark wrap that exposed his legs to almost indecent, but very attractive scrutiny) groaned, the strange sensations that had rendered him nearly senseless a short while ago receding slightly. Seeing Atem surrounded by the Priests and his Guard, however, he decided to play dead for now. No harm in taking them by surprise when he had a nice human shield, consisting mainly of female mammary glands.

A sob tore through Cassandra's throat and Seth found himself heartily wishing that it had done so in a literal sense.

"I love him!" she cried breathlessly, "From the very first moment we met . . . I knew he was the one. There can be no other . . . if you kill him, you'll have to take my life too!" Proudly, she pulled down the neck of her gown, baring her breast to Atem's sword-point. Bakura noted with satisfaction that a good portion of the guards fell over with haemorrage-worthy nosebleeds at this display. At least she was useful for something. Perhaps the hair in her armpits also had magical, anti-odour properties. At this stage, a strange buzzing entered his head and he would have been sorely tempted to swat at an imaginary fly if he hadn't been pretending to be incapacitated. Words began to form from thin air, twisting eerily to form an unheard melody.

_Lucky you were born that far away so  
We could both make fun of distance  
Lucky that I love a foreign land for  
The lucky fact of your existence  
_

"Bu . . .but you're my Queen! And he's an outlaw . . . How can . . .?"

"How can I love him?" asked Cassandra, sitting up with a firm posture, "Do criminals not deserve even their small share of happiness? Are they to live without love and care like beasts? What kind of Kingdom have you created where even the most evil of human beings can be deprived of the right to live and do as he pleases?" All this while, the ghostly song was solidifying into something much more terrifying, causing several people including the High Priest to look ceiling-wards with bewildered expressions.

_Baby I would climb the Andes solely  
To count the freckles on your body  
Never could imagine there were only  
Ten Million ways to love somebody . . ._

Carried away, one of the guards yelled, "Up with Democracy!" and was swiftly silenced by a blow to the head from a seething Seth who was furiously fighting the urge to break into a belly-dance. What hideous power was this? His suspicions of her being a demon of the underworld sent to destroy their Kingdom were swiftly gaining substance in his mind. How else would she wield such influence over others? Even the almighty Thief King had been brought to his knees (if his tortured expression and rigid limbs were anything to go by). Unbeknownst to the High Priest, Bakura was actually paying close attention to the words of the song and was visually playing out a scenario in which Cassandra physically attempted to find freckles on his body.

_Le ro lo le lo le, Le ro lo le lo le  
Can't you see  
I'm at your feet_

Whenever, wherever  
We're meant to be together  
I'll be there and you'll be near  
And that's the deal my dear

Tears gathered in her shining, multi-coloured eyes as she surveyed the room at large, like Marc Antony after his countrymen had unaccountably lent him their ears. "True love will never be killed by swords or spears . . . but you will never know that! You have never loved the way I have!"

A keening sound of terrible pain exited Atem's lips and Seth grasped his shoulder in alarm. "My King . . ."

"Love?" His golden-violet hair nearly stabbed Bakura in the blue-grey eye as he dropped to his knees before the Princess. "LOVE? Love is all I've ever given you! You've taken my very heart and soul and left me with nothing! How can you love a man who has brought this land nothing but terror and misery? How can you choose _him_ . . . over _me_? Are you blind, my darling, my dearest? Say that you lie . . . "

"No," said Cassandra, gazing upon Atem with misted eyes. "I'm being perfectly truthful, you know that, Atem. I'm sorry I could not be a better wife . . . I'm sorry that I cannot love you."

_Thereover, hereunder  
You'll never have to wonder  
We can always play by ear  
But that's the deal my dear_

Atem turned his once proud head way from her, crystal drops forming at the ends of his long eyelashes. "Then . . . then so be it. Let me not stand between true love and its destiny . . . " Seth looked between Atem and Cassandra in rapt disbelief, horror etched deep on his austere face. Cassandra glanced up and cast him a soft, glistening smile. "Take good care of him, Seth. Maybe he'll find comfort in another someday, maybe Isis will be the one to bring him that . . ."

_Lucky that my lips not only mumble  
They spill kisses like a fountain . . ._

_  
_"Enough!" yelled Seth, Shadow magic leaping rampant, crackling with seething energy from his towering frame. Such was the force of the High Preist's rage that the strange music which had echoed so hauntingly through Cassandra's chambers died down to a shivering, high-pitched whimper.

_Lucky that my breasts are small and humble . . . ?_

"I said ENOUGH!" came the answering bellow, a vein twitching under the blue head-dress. This was too much. Not only had this . . . this _creature_ placed their King under a vile enchantment and plunged their court into disorder, she had mocked every principle that Seth had ever stood for, trampling his logic and meticulous judgement underfoot like a pregnant panda bear in a cryogenics laboratory. Not that he was aware of such a comparison. And now she dared . . . _she dared suggest _that _Isis_, honourable, wise, lovely Isis, play second choice to a man with a broken heart? This was more than an outrage . . . It never even occurred to him to recite his customary trig ratios.

"_You_," he hissed, and Cassandra actually leaned backwards into Bakura, her bottom lip trembling in fear as the tall man advanced, "_You_."

Bakura had to admit, the man had intimidation down pat. Why on earth hadn't the fool spoken up earlier and had this strangely-hued human leech executed? Aware that his time to escape drew near, he stealthily began to shift away from Cassandra, gathering his sapped strength for the summoning of his Ka beast.

"You will leave this Kingdom and never return! Henceforth, you are banished from Egypt _on pain of death!_"

"Seth!" cried Atem, but the High Priest silenced him with a look of gentle firmness. "Your Majesty, I think you will agree that this is for the best. You are a King, not a slave to emotion. You must be strong for your people and mete out justice where . . ."

"Hah!" He was rudely interrupted by Bakura's trademark evil laugh as the Tomb Robber sprang from his prostrate position on the floor, rolling away towards the balcony door. "I can only say that you deserve each other," he sneered at Atem before a great, ghostly hand burst through the floor of the chamber, grasping Bakura around the waist and spiriting him away into the night.

"My love!" cried Cassandra, dashing after Bakura, somehow vaulting the balcony railings and landing uninjured.

"Cassandra!" called Atem, his voice cracking with the immense sorrow he felt.

"You bastard!" yelled Seth, robes whipping behind him as he set off in pursuit. Nobody would escape him this time. _Nobody._

* * *

The desert night was freezing, a strong wind lashing sand up Cassandra's skirt in what should have been a painful manner, but in the face of losing her love, this was merely exfoliation. Her superior sprinting skills and inhuman endurance were allowing her to gradually catch up to him. However, she was aware of the pursuer on her tail. There was no way she would let that scary High Priest beat her darling Tomb Robber. Once she and Bakura were together, nothing would come between them.

Of course, despite Cassandra's advanced physical traits, superhuman speed and intelligence, it had never occurred to her to consider why Bakura had left her behind in the first place. Such a thought held little or no merit for her, he was an imeptuous man, maybe he simply forgot in the excitement of the escape that he was no longer a one-man show. Or possibly he was off for a quick bachelor party before his marital status was permanantly altered.

_Oh my love, how forgetful you can be sometimes,_ she chided him gently in her mind, _Don't worry, once we're married all that will change. You'll never forget me again and leave me to the mercy of a heartless High Priest who might spoil my beauty through Shadow Magic._

She allowed herself another moment to reflect on Seth's hard, cold nature before she realised that Bakura's Ka beast had come into her vision. Swooping over the dark dunes ahead, the great creature presented an aspect somewhat similar to an ancient Egyptian bat-mobile. She sped up, the sweat beading on her curvaceous frame giving off the odour of crushed rose-petals.

Not far behind, Seth followed doggedly, determined that the despicable Tomb Robber and the creature from hell, whatever strange thing it might be, did not escape punishment. He had summoned a minor dragon, smaller in size than one he would normally choose, for the purpose of speed. In his case, an ancient Egyptian equivalent to a Volkswagen Beetle. From his vantage point on the beast's back, he could make out the outline of Diabound far ahead, and a multi-coloured speck on the ground, moving too fast to be human, that was most definitely the almost-Queen of Egypt.

_Infernal demon,_ he hissed mentally, _You shall pay for reducing my King to the broken, love-lorn man he is now. And for daring to insult Isis's integrity in such a humiliating way._

His moment of shifted concentration cost him dearly. Up ahead, Diabound had disappeared. Cursing softly, Seth applied brakes, or, more accurately, tugged at the projections above both wings of his dragon. Raising himself slightly, he twisted around, heart pounding, knowing that the minor beast he had summoned was no match for Diabound's strength and dark abilities. Below him, he heard a loud giggle. Peering downwards in disbelief, he saw Cassandra had also halted and was pointing below her feet and, unless he was much mistaken, blushing like a school girl. Her words drifted up to him faintly on the night wind.

"Silly! I know you're underneath me!" she pouted playfully, "You should be concentrating on getting away from that cruel High Priest, not looking up my skirt! They'll be plenty of time for that later . . ." she added suggestively, with a bat of her eyelids.

Undecided between nausea or laughter at Cassandra's foiling of Bakura's surprise attack, Seth swerved quickly out of the way as Diabound came roaring up from the ground beneath him. Even in the darkness, he could see the fury on the Tomb Robber's face. Darting sideways as Diabound's clawed hand snatched at him, he fired a bolt of Shadow magic in return, a plan forming quickly in his mind.

"Don't you think you should save your energy for the real battle?" he called, as Diabound circled him predatorially.

"What are you talking about?" yelled the Tomb Robber in return. Seth could see that he was still fuming. In answer, he pointed out the figure below performing a cheerleader routine, hoping desperately that Bakura would notice the way her bosom bounced when she jumped high enough.

Bakura snorted dismissively. "Once I'm done with you, Diabound will rip her to shreds. Problem solved."

"Not so fast. Even the power of the Egyptian Gods could not stop her from laying a foul enchantment on the Pharaoh's mind."

"And who's to say that Diabound is not stronger than all the Gods put together?" came the sneering answer.

Seth fought to keep his temper under control.

"Toooomb Robber, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, Hey 'Kura!" echoed from beneath.

In a noble attempt at ignoring the nickname just conferred on him, Bakura glared at Seth as if he were responsible. "Why did you come after me High Priest? I can see you're monster is no match for mine, did you have a death wish?"

"No," snapped Seth, "I think you're the one with the death wish. Look!" he pointed dramatically at Cassandra who was now performing scissor jumps. "Do you have any idea what you're dealing with?"

"Who are, who are, who are we? We are, we are . . . the Thieving Team! Go 'Kura! Give me some of that High-Priest crushing, sexy stuff!"

Grinding his teeth, Bakura still kept his gaze on Seth. "And I suppose _you_ know? An expert in women, are you? And here I was putting you down for a virgin . . ."

"Woman?" yelped the High Priest, "_Woman?_ Are you out of your mind, you twit? That's no female, that's a demon in human disguise! Didn't you feel the effect she had on you?"

For the first time, doubt entered Bakura's expression. Oh, he remembered all right. Seth's elation grew; maybe, just maybe . . .

"B for Banana! And he's got a big one too! (giggle)

A for Aggressive! You'll run when he says BOO!

K for Kissable! His lips are like hot rubber!

U for Uber-sexy! He's so _hubba hubba_! (squeal)

R for . . . "

Opposite him, Bakura's eye began to twitch alarmingly. Seeing his opening, Seth waved his hands placatingly. "Look, I know you want to do nothing more than rip her head off . . ."

"You got that right . . ." came the ominous growl.

"So would I, Tomb Robber, believe it or not. _So would I_. But we cannot be rid of her so easily; both you and I know that. She's a demon, who knows what might emerge once we destroy her physical form?"

"BAAAKKKKUUUUUURRRRAAAAAAA! It's getting late, sweetheart! Don't you want to go home to our hide-out?"

Something visibly snapped beneath the Thief's exterior. "Well? he snapped, "What do you suggest we do?"

Never had Seth thought he would feel so glad hearing something from the Tomb Robber's lips other than, '_Please . . . please dont kill me . . . gurgle' _or '_I bow at your feet, Almighty High Priest, acknowledge all my crimes and accept full punishment_', or maybe even, '_Here, take my soul and use Diabound whenever you feel like_.'

Still, this he would settle for. There was no way he was going to take down Cassandra on his own. And maybe he would even get a nice, bloody Shadow Battle with Bakura afterwards, just to restore the normal balance of things.

Ah, well.

* * *

**A/N: Next time: Will Cassandra defeat our temporarily (and very shakily) allied hero and villain? Or will their wily tricks prove even too much for her when combined? And how does Pickles fit in? **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, any Yugioh characters in this fic or Kate Winslet, come to think of it.

**A/N: **Don't you hate how the Mary-Sue can never decide between two (or three, or four) male characters, decides to have them all, makes each jealous of the others and then feels justified in being heartbroken when one deserts her for a more deserving female (who then gets bashed and put down by every other character)? Join the club! Oh, and this chapter has a little more plot focus, considering the bizarre nature of the last one :)

**The Age of Reason**

"Bakura, my love, it's getting late!"

"I know . . . my sw . . . sw . . ."

Seth coughed encouragingly. Bakura squinted somewhere over Cassandra's left shoulder and spoke the words.

"I know, my _sweet_. Just give me a little time to tie up the High Priest and then we'll take him to my hideout where I can torture him, uninterrupted."

Cassandra cast the thief a mournful glance from beneath her long lashes. "But . . . but I thought marrying me would change all that." She took a few steps in the direction of the setting sun, the fading rays catching her at the perfect angle, and turned her angelic countenance towards him, one hand clasped over her heart. "I . . . I thought that being with me would change you. That we could make a new life for ourselves far from here and from . . . Atem."

A sob escaped her. "Oh Atem, I'm so sorry. But true love takes its course . . ."

Bakura cast her a quick glance, his mind working at a speed even Seth would be proud of. He turned, marched over to Cassandra, grasped her arm firmly and locked gazes with her. Cassandra stared back, her breath catching in her throat. "What is it, my love?"

Bakura dropped her arm abruptly and turned away. He surreptiously pricked himself in the testes with his concealed knife, bringing a suitable amount of tears to his eyes. "I must know!" he said loudly.

"Know what?" Cassandra was hyperventilating by now.

"Know that . . . that you do not love Atem any longer, my . . . my emerald-winged hummingbird! Our time together, our marriage, it will be a mere mockery of my love for you if you do not feel the same for me." He turned back to her, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Tell me the truth! Do you still love Atem . . . or is your heart mine and mine alone?"

Ra, he's good, thought Seth, grudgingly. He shifted slightly closer, wishing that he had a more comfortable seat and wishing that Bakura would hurry up please because, oh Ra, that lizard was going to run up his leg and his hands were tied.

"B - Bakura," Cassandra stammered, for the first time looking slightly uncertain, "How can you ask me such a thing?"

"It's a reasonable question," said Bakura, realising that it actually was. "You and Atem were about to be wed. Don't you feel any regret about leaving him and breaking his heart to be with his mortal enemy, my cinammon-covered water-lily?"

Cassandra quivered slightly, her gaze fixed on Bakura, her mouth slightly open. "I . . . but, I . . ."

"You were to marry him for _love_ if I recall what everyone was saying correctly," the thief pursued, "And I saw you two together on the day I sabotaged the procession. You looked very happy with him."

"So it was you!" said Cassandra dramatically, her finger outstretched.

"Of COURSE it was me! We've been over this . . . "

Seth coughed again, to remind Bakura that a raised voice did not equal romantic, wind-blown encounter. The thief steadied himself with a gargantuan effort.

"Yes, Cassandra, my heavenly, tinkling . . . golden shower, that was me. And what I saw between you and Atem was definitely more than affection."

She bowed her head. "I thought that I was in love with him. When he came to my village I thought that he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen . . ." Her voice drifted off and became dreamy. Seth and Bakura exchanged mutual glances of disbelief.

"But then I saw you!" and her eerie, multi-coloured gaze fell on the thief once more, "and everything changed! I learnt what true love meant! That love is not defined by status or the goodness of a man's heart . . ."

"So true love . . . is defined by how good looking I am?" asked Bakura, more than a little perplexed.

"NO!" Cassandra seemed to be struck by the same wave of confusion. "No, of course not, my love . . ." She wavered and gave a nervous laugh before casting a dainty hand across her forehead. "Oh, I feel so faint. Why do you question me so harshly? Take me in your arms, my thief, take me far from here!"

"Oh, for the love of . . ."

"COUGH COUGH!"

"Right, we're going home, just . . . let me have a word with the High Priest. I must give him warning not to try any funny business that might endanger your . . . rose bud-like life, my honey drinking toadstool."

"Anything you ask, my thief. Just hurry up, so that we can be wed!"

Dragging Seth roughly a safe distance away (Bakura, unlike some others, was well-aware of her supersonic hearing powers) the thief crouched down to eye-level. "Well, High Priest, any ideas of how we are to accomplish this?"

"I might have an inkling," said Seth slowly.

"Really?"

"Well . . . did you notice how she was always thrown into confusion when you questioned her motives directly and reasoned them out with her?"

Bakura nodded, wondering where this would take them.

"Well that's just it!" The High Priest leaned forward, almost as excited about this as he was about discovering a new, geometrically advanced nose for the Sphinx, "She's obviously gone through life exerting this power of chaos on the weak-minded around her. Everyone simply _obeys_ and there's nothing they can do to stop her. In other words, as long as we are forced to play by her rules we _shape the world according to her_. If we simply begin to counter her chaos, to destroy the fantasy that she's created for herself entirely, we might just be able to destroy her! Remember . . ." and here he raised a finger in an alarmingly school-marm fashion, "Her magic did not work on either you or I because we have trained our minds to blot out all forms of distraction over the years. Me for my priestly duties and you for . . . torturing and murdering innocent people, theft, tomb-robbing, anarchist activity, attempted assasination of royalty . . ."

"You've left out unlawful use of shadow magic," interrupted Bakura, who had been discretely counting off on his fingers.

"Yes, that too . . . hold on, you've gone and interrupted my train of thought!"

"My apologies."

"Where was I?

"Something about training our minds?"

"Ah yes, we've somehow made ourselves resilient to her powers through this."

"But what about Atem?" sneered Bakura, "Or has he been to busy rolling around in his daddy's wealth to learn anything useful?"

Seth shot him a glare and then cast a visible glance of worry in the direction of the palace. "Atem's lessons and training should have had him prepared for her. Unfortunately . . . I actually think . . ."

"What?"

"Well, love is a force beyond any of our comprehension or measurement. Greater men have done worse when under the influence of love."

The thief snorted. "Are you saying that Atem is _really, genuinely_ in love with . . . that?"

"I'm afraid so."

"So, how are we to use this in getting rid of her?"

Seth grinned and Bakura wasn't sure that he liked that. There was something about the High Priest's grin that suggested words like 'dungeons', 'chains', 'crocodiles' and 'trig ratios'. "Listen carefully . . . this may possibly be the most dangerous thing you've ever attempted in your life . . ."

Atem sighed for the hundreth time. To be more precise, the hundreth time that hour. Isis checked the sun-dial in the garden below them. Well, that was a significant improvement, considering the fact that he had originally been doing it five hundred times an hour. Where he found the lung power to keep it up, only Osiris knew. Atem turned and looked at her.

"Isis, why are you so . . . so obese?"

She sighed. "I told you before, my King, I have been gorging on eel-pies in the palace kitchen."

"Hmmmm. But that doesn't explain your pimples. Or the fact that you're a really ugly person inside."

"My pimples have come up because of my disgusting lack of personal hygeine. And the ugliness can be explained by the fact that even my parents realized what a horrible person I am and this left me bitter for all of my life. Also, I'm still a virgin because nobody will have me."

It seemed that Cassandra's enchantment was taking a while to wear off. Not only was Atem in auto-whine mode, but the strange creature, whatever she was, had seemed to leave behind some kind of residual spell that made him hate Isis. When the priestess thought about it, she was not really surprised (after all, not much surprised Isis). How else would Cassandra give herself a back-up plan if Bakura abandoned her (a very likely scenario) and she had nowhere else to go? She would come right back to Atem and be taken under his wing and forgiven. And the best way to assure this was to be certain that even while she was away, other women would become repulsive to him. Especially Isis.

At first, Isis had attempted to reason with him. But the more she tried to explain to her Pharaoh why none of those insults could possibly apply to her, the more agitated he seemed to become until he had almost called to the guard to have her thrown to the sacred crocodiles. Hastily back-tracking, she found that the best way to keep him appeased was to accept and even encourage his mocking.

Something had happened, though. Within the last hour, Cassandra's spell had been waning. Atem's insults were losing their potency and he seemed to be regaining some of his normal habits.

Seth, was her silent prayer, wherever you are, come back with that bitch's head, or don't come back at all.

Bakura was loath to take the High Priest directly to his hideout, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He did blindfold him for most of the journey, but he doubted that this would deter the man's uncanny sense of direction. If they were lucky enough to get rid of the multi-coloured monstrosity he would have to change his lair, and fast. Speaking of said monstrosity, she was now doing a spreadeagled Kate Winslet impersonation as she sat astride Diabound's back in front of Bakura, her pink-green-blue-silver-oh-what-the-fuck hair dancing a passionate flamenco up his nostrils.

"So, my love, what would you like me to wear for our wedding night?" she asked, with a coy glance over her shoulder.

"A . . . er . . . nothing, of course!" Bakura's eyes widened slightly, as he attempted to steer her away from such a nausea-inducing topic. "Why would I spoil your natural beauty with fancy apparel?"

"Oh," she seemed slightly miffed, "That sounds like something boring Atem would say."

_Keep her happy_. Right. "Oh, well in that case," he gave her a squeeze in an unmentionable place (Seth was secretly glad that he was safely clutched in Diabound's talons when he heard Cassandra's moan) and whispered cheekily "I do have an Atem-sized piece of tiger-skin you could wear . . ."

"Oh!" squealed Cassandra, "but that will barely cover my . . ."

"That's the point, my lovey-dumpling!" Ra, could this woman get any stupider.

Thankfully, he was spared any further 'wooing' by their arrival at his hideout. Swooping, Diabound deposited them at the entrance, Seth sniffing at the air like a blood-hound and muttering under his breath "Ha! I know the smell of this place!". He received a swift kick from Bakura who then proceeded to drag him past the secret entrance, followed by Cassandra, elegantly picking her way more slowly down the rocky incline.

"The Pharaoh will never find you here, High Priest! _Do you think she'll fall for it?_"

"You underestimate Atem's powers! He will find me eventually! _It depends._"

"Hah! That midget has trouble seeing over the dinner table, let alone searching you out in a hundred miles of unmarked desert! _On what?_"

"The Pharaoh has powers you could not even fathom! _On how convincingly we play our parts._"

Their whispered conversation was cut short by their arrival at Bakura's inner sanctum. Seth's eyes bulged in outrage when he saw the priceless artifacts the thief had amassed here from the sacred tombs. He bit his tongue and focused on the matter at hand. Once Seth had been unceremoniously deposited in a dingy corner, Bakura nonchalantly removed his coat, tossed it aside and took up a rather risque pose on a gilt recliner. Cassandra watched him avidly and edged closer, trying to find a space on the recliner to squeeze in beside him.

"No," he ground out harshly, "down on your knees."

Almost swooning, Cassandra dropped down as he commanded and Seth hastily averted his eyes. Bakura, thankfully, did nothing worse than feed her a few grapes off a platter while giving Seth an imperceptible nod when she was distracted. Taking his cue, the High Priest began to slowly slip off the ropes Bakura had loosened during their passage through the hideout. He pulled the Millenium Rod from its hiding place within his tunic and grasped it, ready for the right moment.

"My love, can we discuss the wedding?" Cassandra asked softly.

Bakura frowned and gazed thoughtfully into the distance. "But you still haven't answered my question."

"What question?" She sat up straighter, startled, "You're not still thinking about . . ."

"Yes," growled Bakura, "I must know that your heart is mine forever."

"But . . . but Atem is no longer a part of our lives. We don't have to think about him any more! Isis is with him, she will take care of him. I'm sure of it!" She stroked his arm, her glowing orbs alight with fervour. "This will all end perfectly, I'm sure of it. Atem will marry Isis, you and I will be wed, we shall leave Egypt for many years, and by the time we return with our children, Atem will have forgotten his pain and will accept us into his court. Can you imagine how wonderful it will be? No more running, hiding, stealing and killing. You can forgive Atem for his family's atrocities against yours and become his most trusted advisor!"

Seth, despite the fury that was building in his own mind, grew alarmed at Bakura's rigid expression. He shifted slightly and knocked over an urn, snapping the thief back to reality.

"Y . . . yes, of course," Bakura sounded as if he were drinking bile with a side-helping of foot fungus.

"And think of our children! Oneday, Atem might make our son crown prince if he doesn't have any children of his own."

"Right you are, my dear."

Seth caught the thief's eye and nodded to show that he was ready. Bakura sat up suddenly, scrutinizing Cassandra closely. She smiled up at him. "What is it, my love?"

"It's you," muttered Bakura, running a speculative eye over her, "Something's different."

"Different?"

"Yes." There was a pregnant pause after which he stated definitively, "You've put on weight."

Cassandra stared back, nonplussed. "Wh . . . what?"

"You're fatter. And, oh, how did I not see _that_?"

"See what? What are you talking about?"

"Those pimples. Inside your nostrils. And is that . . . is that a moustache?"

Cassandra laughed nervously. "This is not funny Bakura. You're certainly in a strange mood today." Bakura became aware of her strange energy reaching out, trying to nudge his thoughts back in the right direction. He persisted, staring at her as if seeing her in a new light suddenly.

"You know, this whole kidnapping thing was very exciting," he said slowly, "but I wonder if it's worth it in the long run."

Panic was now evident in Cassandra's eyes. "My love . . ."

"I mean, yes, Atem will be devastated for a while, but he'll move on. And I do like the free, nomadic life . . ."

"No!" She was on her feet now. "We're going to wed and settle down!"

"But do you mean you never considered this?" Bakura matched her stance, a whole head taller, "You never realised that despite all the things you've dreamed about in your head that I am a _tomb robber?_ A murderer, thief and stealer of souls?"

"But all that is going to change . . ."

"No, nothing is going to change. I will always be those things. If you wish to be my wife, you will have to stay here in the hideout, roughen your palms with cooking and cleaning, lose your complexion to the sun and wind and be prepared to die at any moment if the Pharaoh's men find you."

"It doesn't have to be that way! We can build a good life, live on the spoils . . ."

He took a step forward, eyes blazing, "You will clean my blade of blood and guts, tend my wounds if they begin to fester and face being cast out in the desert with no hope of survival if you betray me! You will be cast out of society and never welcomed on any doorstep again!"

"Stop!" shrieked Cassandra, "Why are you doing this? Our life _will _be perfect! I'll make it perfect!" Suddenly the air around them was thick with strange magic, straining to rob the thief and the priest of their free will. Cassandra was . . . shimmering? On closer inspection, Bakura could see that her outline was becoming blurry. The High Priest was right! Seeing the imminent danger, Seth quickly assumed his role.

"Wait!" he rasped, clutching at his head and staggering forward, "I . . . I have to say something."

Cassandra spun on her heel. "High Priest, you've done enough damage. Stay back and out of our business!"

"I must . . . speak. This wedding . . . cannot happen."

Bakura, now also staggering under the force, attempted to drag himself slowly towards Seth.

"And why is that?" fumed the raging woman. She somehow managed to look beautiful in a fiery sort of way. Seth shook his head, clearing it of such thoughts.

"I . . . I'm in love."

The room fell silent. The force that had been threatening to rob them of their senses died away slowly. Cassandra's outline began to regain it's solidity.

"Wh . . . what did you say?" asked Cassandra, her eyes shining.

"I'm in love!" shouted Seth, lurching forward, "This wedding will not happen!"

Cassandra was breathing heavily, looking at Seth's bright, ice-blue eyes, his imposing stature and his handsome features as if seeing him for the first time. "But . . . but you're Atem's High Priest . . ."

"I don't care! My logic, my mind, they tell me that this is all wrong, but I cannot deny my heart." The tall, proud High Priest ripped off his head-dress and cast it aside. "From this day forth, I will devote myself to the service of true love. There can be no higher calling!"

"Oh Seth," breathed Cassandra, tears now glistening on her cheeks, "I had no idea you felt that way . . . "

"But I do. And only by stopping this wedding can I get what I have truly desired with all of my soul."

She took a step towards him, but paused, casting a tremulous glance at Bakura who was still doubled over on the floor in order to hide the immense wolfish grin that had spread across his face. She drew herself up to her full height and looked down at him.

"My thief, you stole my heart and repaid my love with coldness. You took me from my home and treated me as you would a lowly slave. How could you be so cruel? So heartless? But I should have expected nothing less. What else could a criminal such as yourself possibly offer a woman like me? And you, High Priest . . ." she turned her lambent gaze on Seth, "You should have spoken sooner. How would I have known that my true love lay in the heart of one who appeared as cold as you? You abused and shunned me, but now, I realize that it was all a pretense, a disguise for the true emotions you concealed within. You would never hurt Atem, I understand that now. But now, now that we are together where none can come between us . . ."

She reached for Seth only to be brushed aside roughly. She stared at him nonplussed.

"You idiot," was her only reply, "I wasn't talking about you!"

And thus Cassandra became the witness of an event which never reached the annals of the great legends of Egypt, but which cemented the foundations of a kingdom and its many future generations. It was not recorded on any stray sheet of papyrus or carved briefly into a clay tablet; it was not even passed on by word of mouth despite its momentous implications for the passage of history itself. A simple enough reason for this was that the persons involved in this immense turning of fate would have slaughtered the man who recorded it, burned down his house, exiled his family (second cousins included), proclaimed him throughout the nation as a serial killer and then held a month of festivities on his grave.

Cassandra, however, was thinking of none of these things. Her mind went completely and utterly blank with shock at the sight which met her eyes.

Seth. Bakura. Embracing. Crying.

KISSING.

**A/N:** Are you saying yes to the man-love guys? Go Seth! Don't worry, they won't have to keep it up for very long. Pickles might throw a hissy fit.


End file.
